


Phantom

by jazzinjuke



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drama, Intrigue, M/M, Phantom of the Opera!AU, and a Whole Lotta Gay, tagging as I go but I plan to dip into some more mature scenes in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzinjuke/pseuds/jazzinjuke
Summary: Old opera legend John Morrison comes back to the Paris Opera after an early retirement, hoping to put old ghosts to rest. What he doesn't know is that they are closer than ever, and he finds himself haunted by the mysterious Opera Ghost.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glimmerFae (verfens)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfens/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if I didn't have enough unfinished stories under my belt, here's another one. Lemme just say, this is ENTIRELY verfens/glimmerFae's fault, so blame them

_Paris, 1903_

He stood in the center of a stage.

The empty seats swam before him like a vast ocean, the golden boxes rising like cliffs on the sea's edge, stretching up to the painted sky and glowing bronze sun in the form of a chandelier. Immense and opulent, it wasn't a view many people could ever see in their lifetime. The feeling that overcame him he likened to standing in a cathedral; he never had gotten used to the magnificence of those holy places that inspired such awe and reverence, towering in their devotion and testament to His beauty and power. It was a fitting emotion, he thought, as he filled his lungs and opened his mouth.

The first notes were quiet and soft, falling short of the projection he would give them were an audience before him. The vast empty sea swallowed his voice so that it sounded muffled to his own ears and he dared to raise his volume in answer. He let his eyes fall closed as the notes rang through the auditorium, filling the emptiness, and he liked to imagine himself as well, with a serenity. A wish for peace he lifted with his song: that was his entire reason for being there, on that stage, after all. A new beginning, a new chance to start over, to move on.

The crescendo ebbed away until the last notes were just as quiet as the beginning and he allowed himself to stand there in the ringing silence, unwilling to open his eyes and break the moment of reverie. However, it was broken for him by gentle applause.

" _Bravo, monsieur_."

He looked to the side of the stage where a woman stood, graceful smile on her lips and just as radiant as he remembered her. It was as if she floated across the way towards him until she stood beside him, her grin spreading until he couldn't help but return it. He held out his hand in greeting, but with a bell-like laugh, she brushed it away and instead pulled him closer so that she could kiss his cheeks.

"Jack. It has been too long."

"And yet you haven't aged a single day, Miss Angela," he grinned and quickly returned her affectionate greeting albeit a little awkwardly; that was another thing he had never quite gotten used to, the pecks on the cheek in place of a welcoming hug or handshake, and there was always a brief moment of insecurity about what to do on his part whenever someone initiated them no matter how often he did it.

"Oh, you flatterer!" she laughed lightly, "I must return the compliment though: your singing is just as lovely as I last heard. Fauré, wasn't that?"

"Yes," he admitted, feeling sheepish for a reason unbeknownst to him, "I don't know why it came to mind. But, well, yes, ah, I was getting a feel for the acoustics. It has been a long while since I stood on this stage. It is magnificent as always."

He looked back out over the red and gold sea and Angela patted his hand in understanding, though she didn't say anything about it.

"Welcome back," she said softly, "It is good to have you again." They idled for a moment longer on the stage, perhaps to postpone the chaos that they knew was to come with Jack's arrival at the _Palais Garnier_ , because in this business everything was chaos. There would be time for loud greetings and reminiscing on stories of old, but in that moment, everything was quiet and they both appreciated it. However, it seemed the time was now as a booming voice echoed across the stage and through the hall.

"John, my friend! I thought I heard your voice, I would not mistake it for my life!"

A hulking man tromped towards them, face alight with joy. He could see several people peeking out from the wings curiously and was struck by the thought that they had heard him; a flash of movement caught his eye and he saw a few musicians looking up from the orchestra pit as well. He felt himself flushing slightly: of course he had known there were people here, as it was a final rehearsal that day for the performance of _Roméo et Juliette_  later that evening, but he hadn't thought anyone would be listening in to his warm up. Squaring his shoulders, he hid his slight consternation behind a warm smile to his old friend.

"Reinhardt, how wonderful to see you," his hand was once again brushed to the side as the massive man swept him into a crushing hug with a jovial laugh.

"And you, and you! Where have you been hiding these years? One moment, there's hardly a word from you and suddenly I hear whispers that you'll be returning to opera!"

When he was finally let go, he had to take a moment to gasp for air and soothe his ribs; Reinhardt seemed to be oblivious to Jack's pain, but Angela laughed lightly at his discomfort. A few brave souls wandered out from the safety of the stage wings and began to crowd around the three in the center. A steady stream of murmuring had already started up, no doubt discussing the new arrival. Some faces he saw showed simple curiosity, others recognition, and still others--challenge. He wasn't sure which of those he dreaded most.

"You'll have to forgive me, I took a bit of a break. I'm sorry for not keeping contact, but Ana was gracious enough to--,"

"Jack."

The gathering crowd parted for a most regal woman, with a handsome if aged face, and a scarf of royal blue wrapped around her head. Her very presence was commanding and people gave way to her as she stepped forward. She stared him down with her sharp eyes as a silence reigned, until a smile broke out on her face.

"My dears," she addressed the general crowd, though her bright eye remained focused on him warmly, "There have been some rumors going around. And I'm sure that some of you may know this man, and so you know the rumors are true. Indeed: John Morrison is returning to opera and we are honored at the _Paris Opéra_ to have him."

A smattering of applause and cheers broke out from the gathered people, and he offered them a smile as he saw some excited whispering start up. It died down quickly when Ana raised a hand for silence.

"Monsieur Morrison is a close friend of mine and will be joining us this season and hopefully for many more after that. I hope we will all do our best to welcome him."

"Thank you all," Jack nodded in acknowledgement to the short applause again, "I am very much looking forward to the season premiere this evening. It is my greatest wish that we will work well together."

"Ah, I knew it!" he heard a voice call from down in the orchestra pit, "Wilhelm, a hand please?"

The giant man knelt by the end of the stage to grab a hand that was reaching up and easily pulled a young man up to join them. His luxurious curly hair was pulled back with a simple tie and his smile nearly outshone the lights bearing down on them as he came over with the help of Reinhardt.

"John Morrison, in the flesh!" he exclaimed brightly, offering his hand, "I'm sure we'll get along famously. Lúcio Correia dos Santos, at your service, resident conductor for the _Opéra_ the last three seasons."

"Maestro," Jack said, "I've heard much about your work."

"Yes, yes, we will have time a plenty to meet everyone later," Ana interrupted them, "But we must get on with rehearsal and I have one more announcement. There has been another rumor floating around that I am retiring. Well, I must confirm it is true. This is to be my last season here at the _Opéra_ , my dears. Over this year, Monsieurs Petras and Talon, my replacements, will be coming in and acclimating to their new positions, but at the end of this season, I will no longer be your manager."

Several cries of protest erupted and it took a few seconds for Ana to reign in their silence once more.

"I shall miss it and you all, too. But! We still have time left, so let us make this a fabulous year, yes? Practice hard today and enjoy yourselves at the opening gala tonight."

The crowd applauded and cheered thunderously, and Ana gestured for Jack to follow her off stage. He did so, shaking hands with eager men and women that seemed ready to talk his ear off, but he only had time for a passing handshake and smile. As he left, he was almost certain he heard Santos say something that sounded remarkably like ' _Hana owes me 20 francs, I knew he was actually coming back!_ ' but when he turned back to look, the young man had already assumed his position and raised his baton to begin practice. The beginning notes of the introduction and the voices of the opening chorus chased him out, but he was brought up short by Ana's watchful stare as they stopped in the halls.

"I am glad to see you again,  _Jacques_ ," she said affectionately, "I hope this will be your chance to put old ghosts to rest."

He could only hope so.

It had already been ten years, and yet most days the pain was still as fresh as it first had been; it seemed hard to imagine that his return to the _Opéra_ would be able to heal him when time had not. But as he walked through the magnificent halls of the _Palais_ , he began to think that maybe he could do it this time.

What he did not know was that his particular ghosts were closer than ever.

* * *

 

Magnificent as the _Palais_ was during the day, it could not hold a candle to the spectacle it became with the night. Lamps and lights and chandeliers were lit, reflected in iridescently polished marble and rich pool-like gold, until the very walls seemed to burn light into the shadows that softened everything, until it became a golden beacon, a living temple to the arts and those who worshiped it.

The first performance of the season brought with it a gala, and of course, this meant it was to be a full house, for this was an occasion that anyone who was anyone needed to be seen at, a symbol of prestige and wealth to be flaunted. Jack arrived at the sweeping entrance and let himself be carried by the throng of people, men in sleek dark evening coats and women in the latest fashions in a fluttering hue of all colors imaginable, all talking and making themselves heard and seen until it blended into a collage of noise around him. He wandered, looking for a familiar face, but it was hard to distinguish them through the crowd of bright colors; however, he heard a voice call his name and he turned to see Ana reaching a hand toward him, intent to catch him if he had not heard her.

He quickly retracted his hands from her outreaching touch, holding them away from her and by his head as if he had been caught doing something wrong. The look he sent her was curious as she chuckled and continued the motion to place her hand on his shoulder--in the past, the woman had made it known that contact between a different sex was forbidden to her and he had had to correct himself many times from initiating casual gestures he was used to with many of his friends, and so it was that he watched her with a level of trepidation.

"It is all right,  _Jacques_ ," she told him as she guided him by his shoulder through the thriving crowd, "Your concern is appreciated, but no longer necessary any more."

Since this is hardly the time or place to discuss what no doubt is a deeply personal topic, he simply nodded his head and lets himself be gently pushed.

"It is good to see you still keep formal wear," her tone was quietly amused as she took them up the grand staircase, tugging teasingly on his collar before flicking her wrist of the smooth shoulders as if wiping away a spec of dust, "I was nearly worried you had let those kinds of things go during your time away."

"I know how to keep up appearances," he teased back, "And time only seems to have helped yours."

She laughed, full and brightly, and tweaked his ear for his cheek, still laughing when they finally came to their destination: a landing on the stairs where two gentlemen were talking amiably with a few others.

"Monsieur Petras and Talon," she announced their presence and the two turned to her immediately, "Allow me to introduce Monsieur John Morrison. _Jacques_ , these are the ones who will take over the _Opéra_."

It all seems to pass in a blur from there: the Mr.'s Talon and Petras gushing over how enthusiastic they are to have him back on stage, over the splendid performances they've seen of his in the past, how do you like Paris, have you met any of the upcoming stars the _Opéra_ houses, et cetera, et cetera. He finally is jerked out of this dance of pleasantries that he has been through so many times, when someone actually yells his name. He looks around, trying to locate the voice and comes upon a hat resting on a head that he would be unlikely to ever forget.

Below the hat, a familiar yet different face grins up at him from a lower step, hardly pausing to excuse himself to the people accompanying him before he all but leaps up the steps to join him.

"Jack!" the man bellowed as he barreled into him with a hug, kissing him on both cheeks, "Jack Morrison, bless my soul, I'd never thought I'd see the day!"

He pushed back and held John at an arm's length to properly look at him, beaming so brilliantly it must have hurt his cheeks. The man's left arm remained out of his coat's sleeve, tucked by his side and hidden by the dark coat that brought all the more attention to his silky sky blue vest that caught the light an rippled like a cool spring. His beard was shaggy but well maintained, definitely much fuller than Jack remembered as he smiled in return.

"Jesse McCree! No one told me you were still here," he said in delight, clasping the wrist on his shoulder and clapping his own hand over the man's left shoulder, "How have the years been treating you?"

"Kinder than most," the younger man laughed as his companions reached their landing; Jack instantly noticed their foreign features and regal manner in which they carried themselves, although the older of the two (or at least he assumed older) seemed much more reserved in his awed inspections of the _Palais_ , while the younger openly stared around, head swiveling this way and that to take in every detail with unabashed glee, "Ah, yes, and these are Mr.'s Shimada Hanzo and his brother, Shimada Genji. Newly arrived from the East, from Japan."

He easily slipped into a language that Jack had no hope of translating, clearly talking to the two gentlemen and introducing John to them. Jesse, he remembered, had always had a certain talent with languages: from what he could recall of the younger man, his library included Spanish, French, German, Italian, Arabic, Portuguese, and now this language that was impossibly foreign to Jack's ears. But, he slipped back into French just as smoothly as he had fallen out of it, and gestured to Ana and Mr.'s Petras and Talon.

"And this queenly visage before you is out most beloved manager, Madame Ana Amari," he explained, "And our soon-to-be esteemed managers, Monsieur Petras and Monsieur Talon. Gentlemen, a fine evening, isn't it?"

They remained talking pleasantly, the brothers voices clear if somewhat accented, until McCree ushered away the brothers so they might see more of the grand opera house before the show started.

"Mr. McCree works here?" Petras asked to Amari as they made their way to a balcony so that Ana could make her welcoming speech and announcements for the new season, "What exactly does he do?"

"My dear sirs," Ana chuckled at them, "If you do not already know, you will find very soon that there is more to opera than what happens on the stage and behind it. We must of course keep our patrons satisfied and coming back, and Mr. McCree has perfected this to an art form. Call him an interpersonal relations expert if you must, but the day that Jesse McCree leaves the _Opéra_ , you will be hard-pressed to find someone to fill his roll."

She took the balcony and a server offered her a glass (empty, because she didn't drink), but called for attention and gave her speech, welcoming their patrons new and old, welcoming John back, thanking them all for their continued patronage, and promising not to disappoint. Soon, everyone was invited to take their seats, Jack taking a chair in the manager's box. Lúcio came out to much applause, bowed deeply and silence fell over the theater as the lights dim and they all waited breathlessly for the first notes as the musicians came to attention and stilled there, waiting for the baton to drop, hanging on edge. The baton came down and the overture filled the grandiose auditorium and the curtains finally rose.

* * *

 

He waited on the Grand Staircase with his cloak to ward off the night chill tucked over his arm, leaning against the polished marble. Earlier, he had the opportunity to meet some of the key members of the  _Opéra_ : Reinhardt, their leading bass singer he knew of course, but he was introduced to the _O_ _péra's_ prima donna, Amélie Lacroix, a cold and intimidating French woman, and their diva on the rise, Hana Song, a young lady from Korea that was bright and energetic if a tad overbearing. In typical fashion, there were plans to have dinner and celebrate the first night, but of course there was much to be put away after the performers mingled with their audience afterwards, and Jack was left waiting as the stage was cleared, props and costumes put away, and everyone prepared to go out into the city for a little after party.

He had shaken many a hand that night of patrons congratulating him on his return and anticipating his next performance, but now he was left to his thoughts. So deep in his own mind, he did not notice a distant voice as it started to sing until his cloak dropped from his grip that had loosened in his absent frame of mind and broke him from his brooding.

Picking up his coat and glancing around, he finally took note of the singing. It was...strangely eerie, haunting even, as it echoed through the palatial halls, and at first, he thought he almost imagined it. Curious, he began to wander closer to where the voice seemed to emanate from. It was difficult to place where exactly its source was, but he began to distinguish words and recognized it as the aria from _Werther_ , and whoever was singing sounded to be male.

He moved forward as if in a trance as the most heavenly voice he had heard washed over him, his feet moving of their own accord and leading him on blindly.

_'Why awaken me, oh breath of spring?_  
_Why awaken me?_  
_On my brow, I feel your caresses,_  
_and yet, very close is the time_  
_of storms and of sorrows!_  
_Why awaken me, oh breath of spring?_  
_Tomorrow in the valley will come the voyager,_  
_Remembering my first glory._  
_And his eyes vainly will seek my splendor,_  
_They will find only mourning and suffering!_  
_Alas!_  
_Why awaken me, oh breath of spring?'_

The power of the final notes rooted him in place, the voice's crescendo hitting him so forcefully as it rang through the halls, commanding his every sense and tearing through him, until he was left weak in the knees and gasped.

"John?"

He blinked out of the spell the voice had him in to see that Angela was standing before him, coat already on in preparation to leave, looking up at him with curiosity tinged with concern.

"Did you hear it?" he asked, almost breathlessly; her eyebrows puckered together.

"Sorry? Hear what?"

"The person, singing!" he said waving his hand to where he thought it might have come from, but he was only rewarded with a perplexed look from Angela, "I heard--or I thought I heard--someone singing, you must have as well, it was so loud through here."

"There may be some stragglers on their way home," she offered him a warm smile and her arm, coaxing him to walk out with her, "Perhaps they were celebrating the successful performance. You know the opera types: always have a song in them."

"It wasn't anybody I heard tonight," he persisted stubbornly even as he took her arm in his, wanting to impress on her the near-transcendent voice he had witnessed, "This person's singing was...more sublime than anything I've heard. It was _Werther_ , the aria from Act Three, I swear I heard it."

"Perhaps it was an angel then," she mused lightly and he sighed; it was clear that she was not going to take him seriously and probably thought him to be blowing things out of proportion.

"Perhaps," he gave in and let himself be led through the twisting maze of the _Palais_.

He did not see the furtive look Angela cast over her shoulder as they walked, and he did not see the dark shadow that melted from the walls and silently watched them leave.

* * *

 

That night, he dreamed of the voice of an angel. It called to him, bidding him to come closer, but he could not find it. He dreamt of dark skin and darker eyes, but he could only catch brief glimpses of them before they disappeared in black smoke and dust and leave him lost and alone once again.

He dreamt of flames that consumed him, of burning alive and writhing to try and escape, but that dark angel had him in its inescapable grasp and sang sweetly in his ear, until he succumbed to the fire, if only so the angel might keep singing in his ear, that he might hear that song forever.

He woke up with damp cheeks and had to stand on his balcony in the chilled Paris night air for several hours before the heat of the damning fire receded from his skin and he could sleep again. And when he did, he dreamed fitfully again. Dark skin, darker eyes, and a song that promised the darkest thing of all, disguised as the voice of an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr @ jazzjnkr :3c  
> Stick around for more!  
> Song Jack sings at beginning: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N473lIGj7Tc  
> Roméo et Juliette - Gounod: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1qWOzH2j_uQ  
> Werther Aria: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWvbaw4IS2U


End file.
